Yakuza Tattoo Designs - 26 Impressive Examples | Design Press

I wrote this way quicker than I thought I would, so putting it up! Let me know if you cry! :)
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Osaka, 1952
“Ocha douzo, Okamoto-sama,” Okamoto’s beautiful wife Michiko said as she placed the tea down beside him on the veranda. Okamoto smiled at her, amused at the over-formality. Bowing deeply with a wink, she scuttled back into the house, ever busy with her errands.
How she knew exactly when he would take a break, he never did know. But without fail, when he did, she would be there with freshly made tea.
This is the life, Okamoto thought as he drank the cool green tea and surveyed his land under his cone-shaped straw hat. ‘
With what he had saved from the war, they had been able to buy a sizeable plot just outside the centre of Osaka, prime for farming. In the year since, Okamoto had prepared the land, and was only now starting to yield his first full crops.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. It was finally enough.
A year ago, he couldn’t have imagined believing that.
“Yoshi, don’t forget to take the extra down to the Orphanage! I told them you’d be coming today! If you go now you’ll be back in time for when Kenji finishes school,” Michiko called from inside the house.
Kenji, their son, was in the first year of secondary school, and loving life. He was a smart boy, and the fact he attended secondary school filled Okamoto with pride to the point of tears. His only flaw was a fiery temper that reminded Okamoto all too much of himself.
“Hai, Michiko Captain,” Okamoto called out in his military voice.
“Don’t call me that!” he heard his wife shout back, but he knew she would be smiling, just as he was.
“Okamoto-sama!”
Okamoto peered up to see Shirai-san approaching from one of the further rice fields, his shoulder stacked high with bundles of rice on his side that still had an arm.
“Oh, Shirai-san, otsukaresama,” Okamoto said as he jumped down to greet him, helping to take the bundle from the man’s shoulder.
(otsukaresama - thanks for the hard work)
“Please, take some rest. Would you like some tea? I can have Michiko make some more?” Okamoto asked, noting the lines of sweat trickling down the man’s forehead.
“No, no, I’m fine. I don’t want to cause a fuss.”
“Please, Shirai-san, you’ve been working so hard.”
“No, I insist. You gave me back my life, Okamoto-sama. I owe you everything. This is the least I can do.”
Okamoto nodded, knowing he wouldn’t be able to convince the man otherwise. Shirai was just one of many Okamoto and Tsukasa had saved during their years rampaging through Russian occupied Manchuria after the war’s end. Where exactly they had found him, Okamoto couldn’t even remember. His recall of the time was not the best.
Three such men worked for Okamoto on the farm. Even if society had turned its back on the forgotten soldiers of the war, Okamoto wouldn’t.
“Shirai-san, let us pay our respects.”
Inside Okamoto’s house, in a small room behind the main living area, an ornate shrine carved from ebony wood sprawled over the entire far-side wall. Okamoto and Shirai entered, bowing deeply.
“Shirai-san, douzo,” Okamoto said, motioning forward.
(douzo in this sense means, “go ahead”, or “please, go first”)
Shirai bowed, and moved forward to the shrine. Large doors were open and latched to its side, revealing levels of shelves that decreased in size as they rose up. An intricately carved temple with tori gates filled the centre level, wooden slats hanging from various places around it, names of fallen comrades carved deeply into them.
Trinkets of war, medals, the infantry handbook and other such pieces were placed around the other levels.
At the bottom, a large black bowl sat, a tong perched along its rim. In a tray of ash to the side stood burnt senko (incense candles).
Shirai’s gaze however, was drawn to the topmost shelf. A sword arched between two supports, a white tiger roaring down its side. Beneath it, a Russian Tokarev pistol.
Okamoto came alongside Shirai, helping the man to light a fresh senko and drawing his attention away from the blade. Shirai carefully placed it standing in the tray, and then lightly struck the bowl. A long and beautiful chime echoed in the room. Placing his own senko and striking the bowl once more, Okamoto joined Shirai, head bowed and praying.
Shirai, lacking one hand, simply held the other in the air.
Once the chime ended, Shirai stood. Making his thanks and bowing deeply, he slid the Shoji doors closed, and left.
Okamoto, left alone, stared at the blade. He could still feel its power, could still feel its calling, but each time he came to this shrine, each time he honoured the dead and their memories, he felt its power wane.
---
The orphanage was only a few kilometres away, and it didn’t take long to reach on his tricycle. Between the bike’s strong back wheels, a basket full to the brim of rice and vegatables was tied down. After the war, there were more Orphans than ever, and it broke Okamoto’s heart. Whenever he could, any extra he had would go to them, and then to other veterans less fortunate than he.
Dropping off the food and feeling his soul replenished by the smiles and giggles of the children who mobbed him, he went to return home. Much work still remained to finish on the farm before the day was up.
As Okamoto biked away from the old building and rounded the first corner, a bunch of youths almost blocked his way. Most were in their late teens or early twenties, by his estimates. Just young enough to have just missed the war. They were crowded round a smaller boy on a bike, tugging and pulling at his bag, the young boy obviously in distress.
Okamoto slowed down and jumped off his bike, striding over to them. His sweat covered arms were exposed in his simple vest, tanned and glistening in the sun, highlighting the sinewy muscle that stretched over skin lined with scars.
Without a moment's hesitation he entered the mass, most parting and allowing him through. Shoving away a few who didn’t, he reached the boy inside. Without a word, he gave him his bag and the boy rode off, not needing any encouragement to do so.
“Hey old man, what that hell do you think you’re doing?” Came a voice behind him, slurring and dragging his words like a rake through soil.
“What the hell am I doing?” Okamoto replied, looking at the man before him. His head was shaved roughly, bits of stubble growing unevenly over his chin. Despite being quite tall, he was very skinny, still more boy than man. Looking at the boy's dead eyes, he knew there would be a tragedy lurking within, some reason why he would be acting out in this way. But that was no different to Okamoto, no different to anyone in Japan. All had experienced the pain of war and its consequences.
Or, Okamoto thought, he could just be an idiot.
“What the hell do you guys think you are doing? What is this? Why are you picking on such a young boy? No one your own size to fight with?”
The other men in the group seemed surprised at Okamoto’s confidence, speaking so brazenly to their leader. Feeling the pressure of Okamoto’s gaze and his peers, the young man looked away.
Just a coward.
No response forthcoming, Okamoto turned to leave.
“Don’t let me catch you doing this again,” he said.
Footsteps slapped the road behind him. Okamoto twisted, lowering his head and raising his arms. The leader’s fist arched over where Okamoto’s head had been mere moments before. Okamoto rammed a punch hard into the young man’s stomach, feeling the soft bones of the lower ribcage bend under the force.
Doubling over, the boy wretched onto the road. Instinct took over Okamoto as he ran with his leg cocked, aimed for the boy's face.
If I crack the tip of my shoe into his temple, I’ll increase the chance of breaking his skull.
Okamoto smiled as his foot edged closer to its target. A searing heat began to burn in his belly, and with it, an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Stop! Please!” the boy cried, shielding his head.
The sudden plea, sounding so child-like and innocent, snapped Okamoto out of his craze just in time to divert his foot away.
---
Okamoto slammed his fist on the low table, the glass of shouchu almost bouncing off at the impact.
( Shochu is a Japanese traditional hard liquor, distilled spirits made from grains and vegetables. )
Grabbing it, he gulped the contents down his throat, the ice at the bottom sounding noisily as it rolled around.
“What happened, darling?” his wife asked, her voice quiet and unsure.
Okamoto motioned for more drink, and his wife obliged, albeit with a worried eye.
“Bunch of gangster wannabes outside the Orphanage were picking on some school kid.”
His wife’s eyes shot open. “Yoshi, they are Yakuza! What...did you do?”
Okamoto sighed.
“I helped the kid get out of there.”
“...and then what?”
Okamoto looked at his wife, and took a deep breath.
“One of the idiots attacked me, so I defended myself.”
“And that’s it?”
“Yes! Would I lie to you, Michiko?” Okamoto shouted, his wife jumping at his loud voice.
Instantly Okamoto felt a sinking sadness and regret. He had never shouted at her before.
“I’m sorry, Michiko,” he said, seeing tears well up in her eyes.
“Tadaima,” Kenji’s voice called from the entrance way of the shouse, tired and low. Seemed like he wasn’t having a good day, either.
(Tadaima : I’m home)
Michiko rose to go and greet him.
“Kenji! What happened to your face?” she gasped just as Okamoto finished his second glass.
“Have you been fighting again?!” she shouted.
They came through the house and into the living area where Okamoto sat. Okamoto glanced up, expecting to see a slight bruise or maybe a small cut.
Kenji’s face was bruised all over, one eye almost shut.
The searing seed of anger that Okamoto had felt before exploded into a full blown rage.
He jumped up, throwing the glass at the wall.
“Who did this?!” he roared.
Kenji began to sob, his wide shoulders jerking up and down as he did.
“Otousan, I’m sorry,” he cried, “I am not strong like you.”
Shame clouded over Kenji’s features. His boy was ashamed. Upset. Scared. It all just added to the anger that was reaching boiling point inside of Okamoto.
“Just tell me who the hell did this, Kenji!” Okamoto yelled, his knuckles cracking under the pressure of his closed fists.
“Some guys, near the Orphanage. They pushed me off my bike. Took my bag. Started kicking me.”
“Anta, where are you going? Wait!” Michiko called.
But Okamoto was already gone.
---
In a trance of rage, Okamoto soon found them, congregating in a small park area near the Orphanage as dusk began to fall over the sky. Gangs like these had always been popular before the war, but Okamoto had hoped the combined war effort had put them to an end.
Wishful thinking.
A couple more members, older and bigger, had joined them. Okamoto didn’t care, nothing was going to appease his rage except their cries of pain. He would teach them a lesson.
At full speed, he dismounted his bike, letting it run straight into the throng. Striking two of them heavily, they fell to the ground under its weight.
Too late, another turned to see Okamoto’s fist just as it slammed into his jaw. In the same motion, Okamoto’s foot found a home in the stomach of the chubbier boy next to him.
But Okamoto wasn't as fast as he used to be.
Just as he went to strike the next man, a fist caught him round the head, sending him tumbling to the ground in a daze. A tall man, rolling up his sleeves to reveal tattoos, closed in.
“Get him!” he shouted.
A volley of kicks bombarded Okamoto’s body, until one struck his head, and everything went black.
---
“Oi, old man, wake up.” a rough voice coaxed Okamoto awake, as he felt someone slapping at his cheeks. Okamoto tried to see, but his eyes were so badly swollen that he could hardly make out the shapes before him. Hands lifted him up from behind, hooking under his shoulders and holding him tight.
“The old fool is awake,” the voice laughed.
“What should we do with him?” another voice, Okamoto recognised it as the boy from earlier.
Should have kicked him in the head.
“I say we cut him up,” the other voice laughed, a demented cackle of a broken mind.
Okamoto heard the flick of a knife.
A sharp pain stung against his cheek as a flash blurred before him.
“Haha , look, it pops like a spot!” the crazed man before him said. Okamoto could tell by the other voices around that not everyone was in agreement with the torture being bestowed upon him.
“Otousan!”
(Father!)
Okamoto’s heart stopped. Please, no, he thought, he begged. He tried to see, but could only make out vague shapes.
“Otousan!” the voice cried out. It was Kenji.
Gravity seemed to pull Okamoto down into the earth, his heart sinking as nausea rose up in its place.
“Kenji!” Okamoto screamed, “ Don’t come any closer! Go home, get—”
A punch struck Okamoto across the face.
“Oh look, the boys brought a sword with him, how cute!” the man with the knife laughed again, whipping his hand of blood.
No. God. No. Not the sword. Kenji isn’t strong enough, he won’t be able to handle it!
“Is this your old man, little boy?”
“I’m not a little boy, and my father is a hero!” Kenji cried.
Another strike landed into Okamoto’s stomach, a boot crashing into his cheek straight after. Landing face away from the scene, a knee held pressed into his back, pinning him down.
Kenji roared, and Okamoto heard him running into the men.
“Haha, he hasn’t even taken the sword out of the scabbard yet,” the vile creature before Okamoto sneered.
There was a shuffling of feet, a sudden exhalation of air, and a soft cry.
“Otousan…” Kenji muttered.
“You idiot, you stabbed him!” one of the men cried, “he's a kid!” Okamoto heard wet drips spill onto the dirt.
The pressure in his back released as the man atop him fled.
Pulling himself up and filled with dread, Okamoto stumbled on to his unsteady feet and hobbled to his son. Kenji was laid on the ground, hands pressed round his stomach. The sword lay to his side.
Panic filled Okamoto as his eyes darted around, the last of the gang disappearing out of sight.
“Help! Someone!” he screamed, picking his son’s head up off the dirt with a shaking hand.
Blood trickled out of the corner of Kenji’s mouth, matching the steady flow of tears from his eyes.
“Otousan, I’m sorry…” he said, his eyes half closed.
“No, no, no, don’t speak, I’ll get help,” Okamoto said, looking around once more, confused as to whether he should run to save his son, stay, or attempt to move him.
Looking at the wound, Okamoto tried to apply more pressure, but only more blood spilled forth. Kenji moaned in pain, a tired sound, like a baby.
My baby. My son! My flesh and blood!
“Kenji, Kenji, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Okamoto said, placing his forehead against Kenji's.
“Otousan…” Kenji said weaker still, his trembling hand rising up to Okamoto’s cheek, “ I’m so glad you came back. We’re happy now. I’m so happy…”
The hand fell away. Kenji’s eyes glazed over as his head lolled to one side.
“No! Kenji! No! No!” Okamoto screamed.
“My son!”
Okamoto checked his pulse, tears streaming from his stinging eyes and onto his hands. Nothing.
He pounded the ground, screaming and punching till his hands became raw and red.
“Why?!” he bellowed as a pool of blood began to form on the ground beneath them.
“He grabbed the sword, unsheathing it, holding it up in the air.
“Why? Why did you do this. Why?!” he cried, falling once more to the ground.
The pain swirled within him, growing faster and faster, heat building within. The pain turned to anger. Okamoto shook from head to toe, his brain igniting in a frenzy of absolute rage. Bones clicked, flesh stretched, his muscles burnt. His vision became clear as the pain of his body faded.
I’m sorry, Tsukasa! I never was as strong as you.
Gripping both hands to the hilt of the sword his mind exploded outwards, sensing where the gang had run to.
“I’ll fucking kill them,” he swore, “I’ll fucking kill them all, Kenji!”
---
Present day
Okamoto’s pent-house suite.
Tears rolled down Okamoto’s face as his eyes fixed onto the place where the bottle had broken far below, staring blank and unseeing. It had been a long time since he had thought of the past so vividly.
And with such power.
He knew it was not only him dredging through the past, but the sword, too.
Wiping the tears away, he walked back inside, and opened another bottle at the bar.
Pouring a drink and downing it in one gulp, he walked through the expansive pent-house, arriving at a small side room. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and walked inside.
It had been a long time.
Doors closed and covered in dust on the far wall, was the shrine he had built all those years before. The same one from their family home.
With care, he slowly opened the doors.
On the main shelf, a small black and white picture of his wife and son was framed, faded and brown with age. Everything else was the same as it always had been.
Okamoto tenderly picked the frame up, and wiped off the dust. Looking at it, Okamoto wondered what his son would think of him now. He had taken his revenge. He had killed them all. Erased the connected gangs from existence, along with their families, their friends and whoever spoke of them.
In its place, he had set up his own, calling on old friends and those loyal to him. Together, they had sworn to protect all those who still depended on them. Other such groups quickly bent the knee in the face of Okamoto’s power. They adhered to his rules. His whims.
And the sword’s.
But he wasn’t the same as those he had sought to destroy. He wasn’t.
His son would know that, wouldn’t he?
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Warning: Moderately Obscene Language, Gore
​
It’s raining hard outside, sheets of pouring rain smashing onto the roofs of apartments, offices, and shops. Kyoto will drown if this storm keeps up, I think. My hand hovers over the kiosk as I look at dozens of drink choices. I riffle through a few before I find one I like; vodka, one of the cheaper drink selections imported from Poland. I finish making my order and pay a total of ¥700 with the scanning of my identification card. My eye is on the shelves of drinks behind the counter, each bottle containing fluids ranging in color from bright fuchsia to translucent ivory.
I lay back slightly in my seat, the beating rain outside like music to my ears. My gaze falls upon a cactus-shaped slab of chartreuse metal encompassed by emerald neon lights, the iconic logo of the Lone Ranger bar. It illuminates the entire room with a faint green glow, and along with the cheery music, it creates a calm atmosphere.
Behind me, four tattooed figures sit in a circle on white couches, downing mugs of tap beer as cigarette smoke surrounds them; they are obviously members of a syndicate. Another booth is occupied by an upper-class couple clinking their glasses filled with exotic wines. I am an outcast here, an alcoholic citizen coming to drink only because there is nothing else to do.
“Here, sir,” a voice declares behind me. I turn to see the barista- probably no more than twenty years old- holding out a shot of vodka. I can’t help but think that I’ve seen her somewhere before, but I shrug it off. My eyes are glued onto the small glass shot cup as I mumble a half-articulated thanks. My obsessed posture screams addiction.
Gingerly, I place the cup to my mouth and stare at the liquid below. The drink is transparent to the point where it can be mistaken as water if it weren’t for a strong fragrance rising up from the glass. I point the bottom of the shot demitasse towards the ceiling, and the vodka slides into my mouth.
I swallow.
It is like consuming pure nostalgia. Vague and blurry images stir in my mind, but I feel the ever so clear presence of reminiscence. Relishing the feel, I ask for another shot, and another, and then another. Soon there is a pile of empty glasses, and my head starts to spin. I press the cold glass to my forehead to clear the dizziness.
My vision sways back and forth in a wave-like pattern, and my head rolls toward my right shoulder. The room is spinning, the couches, the customers, the employees, all revolving around me. The room just won’t stop spinning…
The feel is intoxicating, a different kind of high, and in a subconscious daze, I press my shot cup onto the counter. More. Even though I feel the weight of drunkenness, I want more. I need more. I demand more. And so with my brain completely absent, I ask for more.
The barista surveys me with ambivalence and turns for yet another shot cup. She says something to her friend, who eyes me carefully, and despite my scrutiny, I cannot make out their conversation. Everything is blurry and obscure. I stand up and walk around aimlessly for a moment; I start to think about something- perhaps it was my family- but I quickly forget what it was. By the time I careen back to my seat, the vodka shot is already waiting on the counter. I grab it and slowly bring it to my mouth, and then quaff the entire thing. The room spins again, and I know that I am drunk, full of the drink that is like ambrosia to me. And in this moment, a moment of longing and memory, I accept insanity; it’s not an abnormality, simply a coping asset. My vision blurs, but in the blindness I see light. Light like at the end of a tunnel. I stand up, only half-awake, and wobble towards the white recliner I’ve grown so accustomed to. Collapsing onto the comfortable cushions, and I stare up at the analog clock. The time is 9:01.
I blink. Maybe it really is too late for revenge. Maybe it is too late for completion. I close my eye; the ebony rim of the clock is the last sight I see before I fall into dormancy, letting my dreams becomes destiny.
<><><><><><>
Fluorescent white light engulfs my vision as my eyes flutter open. Blinking profusely, I stare at the clock conveying the time. There are dark spots in my eyes, and for a few seconds, I am unable to tell how long I’ve been sleeping. My head throbs from hangover and I regret the night’s activity.
After a few moments in blindness, I squint at the clock. The minute hand ticks slowly towards midnight. I have a few seconds to compose myself, a few seconds to choose, and a few minutes to act. I can’t give up now. I can’t. Not when I have not fulfilled my life’s purpose. I jump out of the cushion in distress, ignoring the drums banging in my skull, and trot to the front exit of the Lone Ranger. With a glance behind me, I see that the bar is still relatively full of syndicate members; the barista that had served me is still working, although she barely notices me.
The flow of tap beer behind the counter echoes against the moody music. I turn the brass knob on the door and push, immediately thwarted by the sound of rain splashing on concrete. I slip my dust mask back on and extend a hand into my small haversack and grab a translucent umbrella. Extending it, I step up the companionway into an elevated alley.
“Stupid rain,” I spit in frustration, in spite of experiencing precipitation ranging from light sprinkles to voracious downpours nearly every other day in summer. Perhaps I just want to say something after two hours of silent slumber, but I am still only talking to myself.
Nobody to talk to, nobody to care about, nobody to love…
I hold the umbrella over my head, watching as raindrops slide off the biodegradable nylon surface and drip onto the floor. I stare above the suburban sprawl to see the skyline of downtown Toyko. Shrouded in midnight mist, glass and concrete skyscrapers radiate bright hues of every color. Some stretch over a kilometer into the iridescent black sky. The sight is truly arresting, more magnificent than anything my home, a place notoriously known by the civilians as Neon District, could muster.
The downtown area of Kyoto, famously nicknamed the District of the Zaibatsu, shines gloriously in the distance. The twin towers of the Halogen Associates Digital Service Corporation stand sentinel over the city, rivaling the neighboring Akane Enterprises skyscraper. The shadow of the enormous buildings cast a radiant blanket on the streets of the suburban townships in almost poetic symbolism of their constant presence. I need to hurry, or I’ll miss my chance, I think, but the city draws me in.
The neon giants of Kyoto are truly the pinnacle of the capitalist world. The windows of the skyscrapers are constructed wholly of photovoltaic glass, which a mere twenty years ago was a rare commodity. The advertisements that rest on designated commercial palettes are either digital, holographic, or composed of noble gases. Maybe that artistic part of me is still alive, I think. The city is just so beautiful… I force myself to snap out of the daze, ashamed at my behaviour, and start my way back down to the lower street.
I hold the metal railing of the stairwell with my free hand and jog down the step, staring at the Krypton Solutions store. The company is a branch of its parent conglomerate, Akane Enterprises, and so there are many prosthetics and such for sale inside. There is almost nobody on the street, only a few of the urban vagrants- Wanderers, us citizens call them, for their habit of walking aimlessly on the streets, or perhaps as an emblem of their unclear moral paths. The vagabonds sit around their makeshift fireplaces, talking; some hold empty whiskey bottles, others exhale smoke from their wooden cigars pipes, others laughing like hyenas. Almost all of them wear tattered, grimy leather jackets or ripped and dirty sweatshirts.
There are only twenty meters between me and Krypton.
My eyes dart side to side, scanning the area. One my right, I see a bridge leading to the Shizukesa Plaza, built over a river of polluted water and oppidan sewage. On my left, I see the Shiguto Apartments, a home for the middle and upper-class citizens. The quite spacious rooms of Shiguto Apartments are adorned with luxurious furniture compared to the average apartment of a Neon District civilian; a sizeable portion of the populace refers to the Shiguto residents as ‘rulers in hell’. As I walk forward a bit more, I see the City Security Precinct in my peripheral vision, looming over Neon District like a shadow. City Security, arguably more infamously known as ‘The Watch’, are mostly resented among the people for the corrupt personality of their junior officers, as well as their tendency to accept bribes.
There are only fifteen meters between me and Krypton.
I look forward with a focused stare, though everything in my periphery is barely comprehended. The Halogen shop adjacent to Krypton is hard to ignore, however, especially the chrome array of lights flashing out the company name. Beyond the logo are shelves of augmented reality optic lenses, smartwatches, smartphones, and laptop computers. In the reflective rain-covered glass of the Halogen store, I see my reflection. I cringe at it- a one-hundred-eighty centimeter tall disheveled figure stares back at me, eyes tired yet filled with wrath. A monster created by other monsters. For a second I imagine a boy of fifteen with happy eyes, laughing and running in a field of falling cherry blossoms, munching on a five yen mochi from the park stands. I swallow hard, and my eyes start to sting. I turn my head away and continue walking.
There are only ten meters between me and Krypton.
My eyes follow the Halogen shop, and at the top, there is a room that looks as if it were an oversized shipping box. Paint peels off its walls and there is a windowless metal door guarding the entrance. A blue glow emits from the small window on the side of the room, so faint that it looks as if it were sunlight fighting to penetrate a wall of water a kilometer thick. It looks extremely ominous, but today is not the day to put the investigation of the undiscovered over the campaign of the certain. It’s never too late for retribution, is it? I clench my fists. I can still do this.
There are only five meters between me and Krypton.
The Neon District Gym is starting to close. There are only a few minutes before the last of the late-night bodybuilders leave. I see three people total in the gym, completely negligent of the closing time. One of the visitors is a middle-aged woman in her twenties jogging on a treadmill with an energy drink in her hand. From the look of it, she seems to be listening to music. Another is a stoic looking man with a jacket slung over his shoulder, tank top dripping with sweat. The punching bag behind him still has dents the size of basketballs on its surface. The last one is a younger girl holding a can of Coca-Cola. It’s strange to see such a small child in such a dangerous place at such a dangerous time, holding of all things a high-sugar soda that is not exactly conducive to exercise.
There are only three meters between me and Krypton.
The three bright panels in front of Krypton exude a titian light, giving my blue jacket an orange tone. The panels flash the slogan of the company; ‘Upgrade Yourself’. There is a corner alleyway to the right side of the store, and I head towards it.
The alleyway is not very big, and a large green dumpster takes up most of the already limited space. The three sides of the alleyway consist of the right wall of the Krypton Solutions store and two oriental-style concrete walls. Leaning on the dumpster is an ambiguous middle-aged man in a three-piece suit and black shades. His nearly two-meter tall frame dwarfs me, and his muscles are prominent even through his fancy attire. He raises both eyebrows and smiles as he sees me approach him. “You finally came,” the man says in Chinese. “I thought you had chickened out.”
“A deal’s a deal,” I respond in kind. “And I don’t break promises.”
“Bit late, I would say,” the man says, looking down at his golden wristwatch. He tilts his sunglasses downwards and reveals his eyes.
“I got drunk and passed out, what do you expect? I’m here now.”
“Right.” He reaches into a suit pocket and produces a knife. He tilts the sharp point towards me. “Not the best one on the market, but it will kill.” He chuckles. “See, I honestly don’t know why you couldn’t retrieve a weapon in more… legitimate ways. Civilians like you don’t belong in the black market.” He scans me with his eyes. “Especially not at such a young age.”
“You don’t know me the way I do.” I counter. “Legitimate is far behind me now.”
“Yes. But couldn’t you just take a knife from your apartment?”
“No. I mean, yes. But I wouldn’t stain the knives I use for food with someone else’s blood. I’m not a psychopath.”
“If you’re not a psychopath, then why are you buying a knife on the black market?” The man asks. “Seems pretty psycho to me, you know.”
“Excuse me?!”
“Er... that was a joke.”
“Okay?”
“Uh, I really don’t get how your paying for all of this. You work at a grocery store and spend most o’ your money on alcohol anyways.”
“I live off of my parents’ money. I just found a job because it’s what my parents would want.”
“Any good parents wouldn’t want their child drinking like you. Or buying on the black market like you,” the man says mockingly, almost condescendingly. “So you’re clearly picking and choosing what part of your parents’ wishes you want to follow.”
“Just take my goddamn money!” I shout, waving a handful of cash in front of him. “Just give me the knife so I can do what I have to do, damn it!”
“Fine. As you say, then.” He extends an open palm from his right hand and holds the knife in his left. “Trade?”
At this I press the bills, worth around ¥4000, into the man’s open palm. He laughs as he sees the money. He pockets the bills and puts the knife in my hand. “I don’t normally do this type of business. Nice to see someone finally buying a permanent fix to their problem rather than a temporary one.”
“I’ve been living like this for too long. Emptiness and sorrow, and then a sprinkle of euphoria and false hope, and after that emptiness and sorrow again,” I respond. I pause for a moment before saying, “Well then, thank you.”
The man nods. “Sayounara; the name’s Guan Yehu.” He leans back further on the dumpster and lifts his shades back into place. He counts the money, admiring the bills. As I leave, he calls back to me. “Whatever you’re doing with that thing, good luck.”
<><><><><><>
I canter away from Krypton holding the newly purchased knife in my hand. Within seconds of my brisk movements, I am at the bridge. I divert my eyes from the sight of the inky sepia refuse below, settling my eyes on a much more elegant view, the dragon statue in the middle of Shizukesa Plaza. There are a few city security officers patrolling the areas.
I tread the concrete floor of the plaza and keep walking forward. The flap of my jacket skims the marble simulacrum of the mythical beast, and I rotate my body right. Sighing, I take a moment to look at the things I have taken for granted. The smell of moisture in the air, the soft glow of the lights in the shops, the creepy darkness in the depths of the unlit parking lot entrance, the rainbow glow of ads shining into the square…
No.
I must do this today, and every second is of the essence. I cannot let procrastination be at fault for failure. A newfound rush of purpose fills my body, and I turn swiftly, headed towards the underground parking lot. By this point, the ground starts to gently slope down. The Quick motorcycle shop is already closed, the Lee’s Defense gunshop is vacant, and the BeFashion clothing outlet is also empty. I give a grim smile. No witnesses- at least none close enough to stop me in time.
“Today is the day,” I whisper, and almost as if on cue, a midnight black McClaren pulls into the parking lot from the opposite side which I am standing. He is coming from the District of the Zaibatsu, it seems. I immediately back away into the shadows of a nearby alleyway. Kabetarou Takahashi, the Chief Financial Officer of Andromeda Innovations, steps out of his voluptuous vehicle and into the parking lot alone. He’s always alone. He’s always wandering the streets late at night instead of attending late cocktail parties. He’s diligent, adventurous, agile. We’re both somewhat of outcasts, anomalies. Maybe that’s how he got in touch with the syndicates. Maybe that’s how I got in touch with alcohol.
We may be both scared, we may be both isolated. But he is evil. And I am not.
Kabetarou Takahashi, the man who planned my father’s murder, the man who dictated my mother’s imprisonment, the man who caused my sister’s suicide. Rage, six years old and bubbling, floods back. Wrath, images of stab after stab after stab, resurface. My face tightens and a tear rolls down my eyes. My knife vibrates from my vindictive shaking, fueled by a cacoethes for murder.
I remember the day where my life took a turn for the worse. Vividly.
The sound of a fist on wood echoed through the apartment room. My younger sister Aimi, only twelve at the time, stood up to get the door but my father arrived there first. He opened the door and two Kanto yakuza members barreled in. They both were towering men, tattoos covering their naked upper body. Their hair was dripping wet from rain, but they were not cowed. In their hands were Uzi firearms, and before my father could meekly say ‘good day’, there was a series of flashes, dents in the wall, and almost a dozen bloody holes in my father’s body. He was dead before he hit the ground.
There was a pause, the two syndicate members lowering their guns, my mother, sister, and I in shock, unable to comprehend the situation. My mother snapped out of her stiff position and ran towards my father. She fell onto her knees by his side, my father’s cold hand in hers. My mother turned around violently to face the criminals.
“What are you doing?! What did you do to him?!” My mother screamed. Her eyes were wet, but I couldn’t tell if it was from grief or fear; likely both. “All this for what? Because he le-” My mother was cut off as one of the syndicate members stepped behind her and put a gag into her mouth.
“He’s dead. And if you don’t cooperate, you will be, too.” The first thug said, and then turned to his accomplice. “Spare the kids, Kabetarou told us not to touch them.”
The second thug violently gripped my mother’s arm and dragged her through the doorway and out of sight. The first thug looked over, inspecting, and was about to leave when my sister cried, “Kill us too! We can’t live without them! We’re family, either we’re all alive or we’re all dead! I won’t live without them! Just kill us, too!”
“Sorry kid,” the criminal said. “Can’t touch you.”
“Why, then?” My sister had her face buried in her hands and was hyperventilating. “Why did have you do that? To… kill them?”
“If you knew what they did, you would understand.” And with that, the criminal picked up my father’s leg and left, leaving a trail of blood where my father used to lay, where he made his last stand against fate.
As soon as the thugs left, I grabbed my sister by the arm and pulled her violently to face me. “What was that?” I demanded. “Are you trying to get us killed?”
“What’s the point of even living without them?” She cried. “Why are we even alive? We should have been the ones. We should have died!”
The same night, my sister, deep in a state of depression, climbed to the roof of the apartment building and jumped off. The most crippling moments in my life were those where the effervescence, the happiness and sorrow and laughter and tears and hopes and dreams, the very humanity, left the eyes of my father, my mother, and my sister. The next day I slumped to the bank and withdrew all the money from my parents’ bank account, then bought a train ticket and left Osaka in time to escape a scheduled press conference.
I had nobody left to love, nothing left to cherish, but one person to kill. The first days I thought it was myself. I desperately wanted to take after my sister. But as that momentous day replayed over and over in my head, one name became first a thought, then a voice, then a chant, and then a roaring current of fury and rage. Kabetarou Takahashi. He was known for many syndicate-related scandal accusations, and the thugs who killed my parents even said his name. It had to be him. I went by train to Kyoto, the city where I knew he lived. Then I could have my vengeance.
Kabetarou becomes a silhouette as he leaves the light and safety of the parking lot. The man who destroyed my family. The man who destroyed me. He is making a turn for the corridor which will lead him into the East Sector’s Tengoku Sky Condos, out of the hostile streets, the shady slums, and the impoverished city. He is making a turn towards sanctuary. Now is the time to avenge the family- the life- which I’ve lost.
But is discovering vengeance really worth risking my humanity? For a short moment I hesitate, but I continue. Since when did I even care about this humanity shit, anyway? I’ve almost reached my life’s goal and now I’m questioning the morality of this? Pathetic. I hold my knife like a dagger and raise it to my chest, slowly walking towards Kabetarou.
I am getting too close for him not to be suspicious. I need to act- now. I sprint towards him and then jump. My left foot collides the ground with a thud as I propel my entire body into the air, raising the knife up to stab. The sound makes Kabetarou turn around, and he is quick to react, but I am already over him, holding the knife above his head. We topple to the floor, and he reaches out his right arm block my arm. In the struggle, we strain against each other, but I rapidly retract my arm and make a move for his chest.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Kabetarou yells, but before he can finish the last syllable, the knife plunges into his chest. He stops mid-sentence, blood gushing out of the wound and his mouth. For a moment he just stares up, shocked, and my damp eyes meet his. I pull the blade out and stab again- and again, and again, and again. “What am I doing?!” I ask, infuriated. “What am I doing?! I’m making you pay for your mistakes, you egotistical bastard!” I yell, though I know he cannot hear. “I lost everybody because of you!”
Boys don’t scream.
Blood, blood that is not mine, sprays up to soak my hand, leaving droplets of the substance dripping on my sleeve. At that moment, I feel no remorse, no regret, only pure adrenaline. But maybe, behind the curtain of emotionlessness, my soul is beyond repair. I move my hand upwards, towards Kabetarou’s neck. The blade slides past his thyroid cartilage and through his esophagus, not slowing until it hits the concrete ground. “How do you like it? How do you like the piquancy of blood?” I say, though I know he cannot taste.
Boys don’t mourn.
I hold a leaning position on the blade and pull up sadistically, making chunks of flesh fly on the ground. I slide the knife downwards above his neck and finally stab him in the chest, the blade sliding right between his ribs. He is dead but I want more. Tears stream down my face and mix with the rain. “Does it hurt?” I ask him, though I know he cannot feel. There are tremors in my voice, and hot air circulates inside my dust mask. “Does it? Do you know what pain you’ve caused me now?”
Boys don’t cry.
I rip the knife out of his right lung and raise the gory shank high above my head with both hands. With my knees on both sides of his corpse, I expel my entire body weight into the blade and drive the weapon into his heart. It is now when I notice three armed policemen aiming their guns for their own kill. I stumble to my feet and give one last look at Kabetarou’s maimed carcass, surrounded by a pool of burgundy-colored fluid flowing like rivers into hideous yet satisfying reservoirs on the ground. “And that is the godforsaken fluid you don’t deserve a milliliter of!” I call out, though I know he cannot see. I turn back to face the officers, their guns pointing at me. My job is done, I think. I want to stand my ground, to let the bullets pass through me, but I can’t.
Boys don’t run.
I stare into the dark barrel of one of the guns, cold and unforgiving. One of the officers says something, and I have no time to ponder whether behind one of the helmets, behind the synthesized uniform of cold steel, there is another human, hesitant and afraid. Adrenaline engulfs my body, drowning out all thought, and I sprint by instinct into a caliginous alleyway to escape my pursuers. As if all of hell was chasing after me, I run against the wind, softened into zephyr by the buildings of the district, allowing the rain to wash away the blood on my hands and cleanse the scars in my soul.

Here is what I have thus far, I would love some suggestions.
[ Washington group ]
Leader: Frank Downse Age: 53 Sex: Male Ethnicity: Caucasian. Height: 6'4". Weight: 210lbs. [Flabby muscle] Eye colour: Light Blue. Hair coloustyle: Light brown/grey, thick but receding. Facial hair: Light brown/grey, handlebar mustache w/thick stubble. Appearance: Wears his old letterman jacket from college [green&blue, w/a NASCAR shirt from the 80s] , blue jeans, old white tennis shoes. Gear: shin guards, elbow pads, leather work gloves w/brass knuckles sewn into the fabric, his old football helmet [which he keeps latched on his belt for emergencies], and his gym bag. Weapons/necessities : Hunting rifle, Beretta w/suppressor, steele bat, 2 boxes of ammunition, Winchester hunting knife, canteen full of water, and 5 ready made food packs. Former job: College football star, turned college football coach. Loss: His wife Sarah, and their only son Ryan. Kill count: 50 Undead | 4 People
Rest of the group
Scavenger: Bethany Ross Age: 28 Sex: Female Ethnicity: Caucasian Height: 5'5" Weight: 125lbs. Eye colour: Hazel Hair coloustyle: Natural ginger, shoulder length. Appearance: She wears a pink graphic t-shirt, an old friendship bracelet, tan cargo pants, brown shin high strap on boots, 3 earrings in her left hear and 2 in the other, a nipple ring on her right breast a small, heart tattoo on her neck, a star tattoo on her ankle, and a group of b&w flowers on her right butt cheek. Gear: Her older brother's arm guards, and an old swat helmet she found, a bullet proof vest, and a backpack. Weapons/necessities : Police baton, fire axe, and a police issued sidearm, two bottled waters, jar of applesauce, and a can of beans. Former job: Escaped convict, she was a sales associate. Criminal record: 5 counts of indecent exposure, 3 counts of grand theft auto, breaking and entering, 2 counts of Driving under the influence of alcohol , and illegal selling of stolen objects. Loss: Her step father Anthony, mother Catherine, and younger sister Audra. Kill count: 6 Undead | 0 People
Archer: David Upcher Age: 40 Sex: Male Ethnicity: African-American Height: 5'8" Weight: 158lbs. Eye colour: Dark brown Hair coloustyle: Black, Shaved Facial hair: Black, Full beard Appearance: He wears a dark red polo, white dress pants, black dress shoes, and a black cap with his company logo on it. Gear: Archery glove and forearm protection, quiver, and leather computer bag. Weapons/necessities: Pocket knife, 8 sharp tipped arrows, compound bow, water bottle, box of half eaten crackers, and two cans of tomatoes. Former job: Archery instructor Loss: No one Kill count: 10 Undead | 1 Person Companion: His Wife Tabetha, former history teacher, age 37, ethnicity African-American.
The teenager: Rose Espeñurita Age: 17 Sex: Female Ethnicity: Hispanic-American Height: 5'0" Weight: 98lbs. Eye colour: Dark brown Hair coloustyle: Black, straight waste length. Appearance: School issued cheerleading uniform (white and crimson red), knee high sock of the same colour, white tennis shoes, and diamond earrings. Gear: [refer to character listed below] Weapons/necessities: Pepper spray, pocket sized handgun, and women's health products. Former job: Highschool cheerleader Loss: Her mother Roberta Kill count: 0 | The Soldier: Markus Espeñurita Age: 45 Sex: Male Ethnicity: Hispanic Height: 6'6" Weight: 234lbs. [Muscle] Eye colour: Dark brown Hair coloustyle: Black, short mohawk Facial hair coloustyle: Black, Short trimmed beard, long goatee. Appearance: Wears his military issued pants, combat boots, white t-shirt w/bulletproof vest over top, it has the Punisher skull spray painted on it, military issued gloves. He has a marine corps tattoo on his left forearm, a pin-up tattoo of his wife on his left bicep, a web tattoo on his left elbow, Fuck Off tattooed on his knuckles, a dargon tattoo sleeve that goes from his right side of his neck, down to his right hand. Gear: Military issued travel bag, shin/elbow guards, dust mask and goggles. Weapons/necessities: Military issued sidearm w/suppressor, M16 w/suppressor, 6 full M16 magazines, 5 Sidearm magazines, first aid bandages, and 8 ready made meals. Former job: Marine combat instructor Loss: His Wife Roberta, best friend Nick Kill count: 90 Undead | 23 People
[ California Group ]
Leader: Yoshida Tomako Age: 32 Sex: Male Ethnicity: Japanese Height: 5'9" Weight: 157lbs. Eye colour: Dark brown Hair coloustyle: bleach blonde, slicked back executive. Appearance: Black suit, white dress shirt w/black tie, black dress shoes. A small silver earring in each ear, a silver ring on his index right index finger, the tip of his left pinkie and ring finger are missing, a koi fish transforming into a dragon tattooed on his back, two sleeves of traditional yakuza tattoos continuing from his back. Gear: brass knuckles, a sheath for his katana on his back, a holster on each side of his chest for his black gripped Wasp Derringer Revolvers. Weapons/necessities: Two black gripped Wasp Derringer Revolvers, a Katana, a pocket full of ammunition, matches, a pack of cigarettes, two packs of ready made rice, and a canteen full of tap water. Former job: Foot soldier for the Kobayashi family [Yakuza crime family] Loss: Younger sister Hinumi Kill count: 145 Undead | 72 People
The story is from two groups, one in Washington and the other in California. I plan on having them meet at some point, then having them try to make it far up north. I intend on making several other groups that they will encounter on their journey.

A little background: I was about 19 at the time, I'm a half-white skinny little female- not intimidating at all. This takes place in Oahu, Hawaii, the Waikiki & surrounding area.
So, I was living with my older cousin and his family at the time, in a small city about an hour bus ride from Waikiki. My cousin had a daughter, we'll call her Mariah, who was 17 years old and, for lack of a better phrase, extremely hot. Her side of the family is Polynesian and so she had long, beautiful dark hair, a huge ass and a tiny waist. She was also a wild child- but, to her father's relief, a lesbian. Because of this, her parents didn't really keep to close of an eye on her. They all openly smoked pot and drank, so they didn't really care if she did, as long as she graduated high school. She can't get pregnant, so there's not much trouble she can get into, right?
Fucking wrong.
One Saturday night, Mariah told her parents she was staying the night at her mutual friend of our's house. I knew our friend was out of town, so I knew she was lying. I didn't want to get her in trouble, so instead of busting her, I decided to just tag along and keep an eye on her. So we got ready, said goodbye to her parents and walked to the bus stop.
"Where are we really going?"
"We meeting some crew at Waiks."
I had no idea what that meant, but didn't want to look uncool, so I just went along with it. An hour later, we got off the bus near down town Waikiki. I followed her to a strip of bars on the edge of the tourist section, the last stop before the pretty lights faded and the buildings looked closer to Detroit than Hawaii. We stopped at a punk bar called Mercury. At first I was confused, because we were under age- until I spotted a group of grimy looking local teens, congregating on a fire escape in an alley between Mercury and a dive bar.
The teenagers got excited when they saw Mariah.
"We been waiting on you, we got shrooms!" A short haired chick grabbed my neice into a hug, then shoved a baggie into her hand. "Guess we got enough for the haole girl, too."
"She's not a haole, she's my auntie." Mariah defended me and, before I could stop her, dumped the baggie of mushrooms into her mouth.
Well, fuck.
I wasn't really sure what to do and these teenagers were kind of sketching me out, but Mariah was going to be tripping soon and I couldn't bring her home like that. She seemed to trust these kids, so I settled in without letting my guard down, until I could figure out what to do.
I hadn't been in Hawaii long, so I had no friends to call to bail us out and give us a place to crash.
"Its early. She'll be fine by 2 or 3." A voice behind me on the fire escape said. I turned to see a Japanese guy in his late twenties wearing a long sleeve shirt despite the heat.
I nodded, not knowing what to say.
"I'm Jiro. You Maria's auntie?"
"Yeah. I'm dryerfreshsocks. Nice to meet ya. Sorry I'm being a drag. I just hate babysitting people when they trip."
He laughed and shook my hand. We talked amicably for an hour or so, watching as Mariah started to trip. She was making an ass of herself and getting a little physical with her friends, male and female. Soon enough, one of the guys took it too far and grabbed her ass. She didn't mind at first, but he kept getting more and more aggressive. His hand kept inching further and further up her skirt and even in her intoxicated state she recognized it as unwanted attention and told him to back off. He didn't take it well.
"You wear a skirt like tha 'n you think you not gonna get cherry?" He spat at her, still holding onto her thigh with one hand, a 4loko in the other.
I didn't really understand what he was saying, but I picked up on the tone and context. This wasn't good. I stood up to step in, but Jiro beat me to it. He jumped down the side of the fire escape, landed on his feet gracefully and knocked the 4loko out of the horny teenager's hand.
"Oh, you like throw?!" The teen stood, ready to fight.
Jiro had his back to me, so when he lifted his shirt to expose his stomach, I was really confused. The teenager, on the other hand, understood immediately and the color left his face, along with the hormonal brovado. He looked terrified.
Mariah, really tripping now, scrambled away from the teen and ran to my side. I hugged her, glad she was okay.
"Let's go." Jiro waved for us to follow him and, not knowing what else to do, we obliged, leaving the group of teens gaping at us as we walked away.
We walked in silence for about 15 minutes, until we reached a dingy, small apartment complex. Jiro turned to me and asked if we'd like to come up to his place since it was so late, that way I wasn't stuck walking around Waikiki at midnight with a tripping 17 year old in a mini skirt.
Seeing as he had just saved our assess and I didn't see an alternative, I said yes and we followed him up. Inside the apartment was no better than the outside. It was a studio with no furniture save for a futon on the floor and a kitchen table with two chairs. The walls were bare and yellowed from cigarette smoke. There was one door leading to a tiny bathroom.
Mariah was starting to feel nauseous, so I layer her on the futon and took a seat at the kitchen table next to Jiro. We talked idly for a half hour or so, just small talk. Then, suddenly, Jiro took off his long sleeve shirt, revealing the wife beater underneath...and the tattoos. His ENTIRE torso and both arms were covered in an intricate weaving of dragons and Japanese writing. Remembering the horny teenager's reaction when Jiro showed him his stomach, my blood ran cold.
This dude was ganster. A Japanese gangster. Fucking Yakuza. I'd seen tattoos like that before and it was no joke.
Fuck.
I tried to mask my suprise, but he picked up on it and smirked devilishly, clearly amused at my discomfort. I was frantically trying to plot an inconspicuous exit strategy, but coming up short. Did I want to face Maria's dad's wrath, or stay here with a Yakuza I'd known for all of 3 hours who seemed nice, if a bit distant...?
If what happened next hadn't happened, I don't know what I would have done, honestly.
Suddenly, Jiro's phone started ringing and he walked into the bathroom before answering. I could hear him speaking Japanese angrily, seemingly arguing with whoever was on the phone. He then stormed out of the bathroom, walked over to the futon, grabbed a box from underneath it and opened it.
The shoebox was filled with stacks of 20s and large bags of meth.
He rifled through the box angrily, seemingly looking for something and not finding it. Mariah, who had earlier dozed off, was awake and watching him, wide eyed and panicky. She started to get off the futon and Jiro snapped at her, telling her to stay put. She froze.
"I think we should go. She seems okay now. We should go before the last bus runs," I lied quickly, knowing the buses had stopped running hours ago. I had money for cab fare.
"You're not going anywhere. My shit is missing."
"You were here the whole time. When would we have time to take your shit?"
He looked annoyed, then like he was thinking.
"Empty your purses and pockets."
We obliged.
"Take off your bra and show me you're not hiding anything."
We did this as well, reluctantly. Mariah was crying now. I tried to stay calm.
"Can we go now?"
"Get the fuck out of my sight."
We booked it out of his apartment without looking back. As soon as we got outside, I called us a cab. We rode home in silence, knowing we had dodged a bullet.
I'd like to say Mariah calmed down after this, but that's not true. She's in her 20s now and just as Wild. But as far as I know, she's stayed away from shrooms and Yakuza since that night!
EDIT: I forget that Americans don't do this, but Mariah calls me "auntie" even though we're technically cousins, because her dad saw my mom as his auntie.
Also, maybe this doesn't seem so scary, but the Yakuza in Hawaii are big in the prostitution scene, specifically under age girls...and my niece was very, very good looking. I was scared, because there's no such thing as a free lunch and this guy had done us a few favors throughout the night.

Clash of Champions
The Finals of the KOTR take place in the main event of the PPV, giving Nakamura & Dunne their first main event. A video package plays, showing their respective rises through the tournament, with Dunne seemingly the favourite, due to his superiority in points, and due to Nakamura’s injury. Pete Dunne makes his entrance first, painted with a look of malice and intention to hurt Nakamura. Shinsuke Nakamura is out next, arm heavily taped up as he strides down into battle as the underdog. He’s done this before; can he can do it again?
As the bell rings, the two men carefully walk out of their corners, not wanting to make a mistake. They engage in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, before Dunne snatches Nakamura’s left arm, keylocking it to apply some damage. Nakamura snatches his arm away, before shaking it off. As Dunne tries for another tie-up, Nakamura slowly walks in, leading with his long legs to keep Dunne at a distance. As Nakamura lashes out for a strike, Dunne ducks under and tackles Nakamura to the ground, delivering some ground-and-pound offense. He then grabs the arm again, using the elbow as a pivot to twist the limb. Nakamura kips up, before spinning through to break the hold, instead gaining control over Dunne’s neck, muscling him down to the ground. He tries for a sharp stomp, but Dunne evades, and they are at a stalemate. Nakamura whips Dunne into the ropes, but the Bruiserweight comes flying out with a lethal Lariat. He picks up Nakamura, before tossing him into the corner, going for a Forearm Smash, but Nakamura ducks it, flooring Dunne with a ROUNDHOUSE KICK! Nakamura follows up with the Good Vibrations, but Dunne makes his way out, picking the leg. However, Nakamura escapes again, delivering a Stepover Spinning Heel Kick to send Dunne out to the floor. Nakamura positions Dunne on the apron, landing a Running Knee Lift, followed by a Guillotine Knee Drop. Nakamura bows to the crowd, before propping Dunne against the barricade, delivering a Shoot Kick to the chest. He slips behind, trying for an Inverted Exploder, but Dunne escapes with back elbows, before picking the hand and manipulating the joints. He puts Nakamura in an arm-ringer, before kicking the elbow joint multiple times. He then SMASHES Nakamura’s arm against the barricade, before threading it through a gap and putting him in a CROSS ARMBREAKER! He releases, rolling in and out to reset the ref’s count. He then positions Nakamura’s hand on the steel steps, before STOMPING down, eliciting a yelp of pain.
Back in the ring, Dunne delivers a Double Knee Drop to the arm, followed by a Double Wrist Lock, tugging at the injured arm. He winds back, before delivering a cracking Kick to the upright arm, hyperextending it. As Nakamura screams out in pain, Dunne adds some psychological torture by applying a Bryan-esque SURFBOARD! He wrenches back into a DRAGON SLEEPER, before popping Nakamura through into an INVERTED ROMERO STRETCH, thoroughly dissecting the arm. He gets back to the hand, bending back the fingers, before trying to stomp on it, but Nakamura quickly pulls back, delivering a Forearm using his other arm. He kicks out the legs from underneath, before kicking at the face. Dunne responds with a smirk, leading to Nakamura delivering more Facewashes to Dunne, but Dunne yells back like a hungry beast. Nakamura responds with a ‘COME ON!’ taunt, and Dunne runs straight into the trap, receiving a knee to the gut, followed by an Axe Kick. He bounces off of the ropes, delivering a Flying Knee to knock Dunne into the ropes. Nakamura closes in, going for the Shoot Kick, but Dunne catches it, threading it through the ropes, before delivering a Dragon Screw Leg Whip! As Nakamura tries to steady himself on the apron, Dunne delivers a SLINGSHOT APRON DDT! He tosses Nakamura into the edge of the apron with an X-PLEX, rolling him back in for a close count. He grabs the wrist, going for more punishment, but Nakamura knocks him back with kicks to the head. Dunne maintains control through, pulling Nakamura in for a Lariat attempt, but Nakamura spins through, countering into a LUNGBLOWER! He works over the ribs, rushing in with Grounded Knee Strikes, before putting Dunne on the turnbuckle, delivering a knee to the midsection. He slides Dunne onto his shoulders, landing a LANDSLIDE NECKBREAKER for a near fall. He delivers more kicks and knees, finishing with a Jumping Yakuza Kick, before attempting a Death Valley Driver, but doesn’t have enough strength to hoist Dunne up. He instead converts it into a Gutbuster, before locking in a Seated Octopus Lock.
Dunne fights out using his technical skill, before attempting a German Suplex. Nakamura lands on his feet, running in for REAR KINSHASA, but Dunne MOONSAULTS OVER! As Nakamura comes back in with a Sliding Busaiku Knee, Dunne catches it into a FLYING CROSS ARMBREAKER! Nakamura gets the Monkey Grip, trying to lift up Dunne to slam him, but Dunne pulls a page out of Nakamura’s book, transitioning into a TRIANGLE CHOKE! As Nakamura tries to fight out, Dunne catches his hand and BITES ON IT! The ref counts for the break, but, Nakamura fights fire with fire, grabbing a handful on Dunne’s locks, before using them to repeatedly slam Dunne’s head into the mat for the break! Nakamura takes a moment to try and recover some strength into his arm. As Dunne comes flying in, Nakamura catches him with a Rolling Liger Kick, followed by an Enzuigiri. Slipping behind, he drops the hips to land a DRAGON SUPLEX, trying for a bridge with one arm, but Dunne is able to catch the free arm, holding it down onto the canvas with one foot, before delivering a flurry of stomps to the elbow! He then ragdolls Nakamura, hitting a couple of GERMAN SUPLEXES, completing the trio with a SNAP GERMAN, followed by a STEP-UP ENZUIGIRI, and a VERTICAL SUPLEX SITOUT POWERBOMB! 1…2…KICK OUT! Dunne slams the mat in frustration, before locking in the Pumphandle. As he throws Nakamura up, Nakamura slips behind and hits the REAR KINSHASA! He then follows up with a SHINING WIZARD, before going up to the top rope, flying off with a KINSHASA, but it is countered into a FOUR STAR FOREARM! Dunne picks up Nakamura once again, trying for the Bitter End, but Nakamura reverses it into a REAR NAKED CHOKE! He then picks up Dunne for the INVERTED EXPLODER SUPLEX, before running in for the KINSHASA, but Dunne once again counters with a SUPERKICK! He goes behind, hitting a TIGER SUPLEX, but Nakamura no-sells it, fighting back with a SLIDING BUSAIKU KNEE! The two men have a double-down, before slowly fighting back to their feet, slugging out a striking exchange. They both throw kicks and forearms, with Nakamuragoing for his flurry of forearms, but instinctively throws the left too, allowing Dunne to catch it, putting him in a KIMURA LOCK WITH THE BODY SCISSORS! Nakamura fights out with knees to the ribs, before tossing up Dunne to catch him on his shoulders, hitting the LANDSLIDE! 1…2…NO!
They enter the closing stretch of the match, slipping into their emergency reserves, pulling out all the stops. Dunne hits a MICHINOKU DRIVER II, whilst Nakamura lands a DEATH VALLEY DRIVER! As Nakamura goes for the Kinshasa again, Dunne counters with a full-speed SHOTGUN DROPKICK, followed by grabbing both hands and SNAPPING THEM! HE LIFTS NAKAMURA UP FOR THE BITTER END! IT’S OVER! 1…2…THR-KICK OUT! NAKAMURA KICKED OUT AGAIN! Furious, Dunne grabs both wrists, before stomping Nakamura’s head into the canvas! He then hits Nakamura with a KNEE TREMBLER, before locking Nakamura in a Bryan-esque CATTLE MUTILATION! As Dunne starts taking it too far, releasing the hold to bite the fingers and stomp on the head, the referee gets in the way, forcing Dunne off. As he checks on Nakamura’s arm, making sure he can continue, Dunne tosses the official to the side, before getting a sick look on his face. He puts Nakamura into the Pumphandle, but this time puts him in a TOMBSTONE POSITION! HE’S GOING FOR THE BETTER END! Frantically, Nakamura sparks to life, landing knees to the head to knock Dunne woozy, before landing a close-range KINSHASA! He then composes himself, going for another KINSHASA, but DUNNE COUNTERS IT BACK INTO THE CROSS ARMBREAKER! This time, Nakamura hoists him up and throws him into the corner, running across the ring to try and deliver a knee, but Dunne escapes, doing a Bryan-esque MOONSAULT ESCAPE… BUT HE’S GONE TO THE WELL TOO MANY TIMES, AS NAKAMURA CATCHES HIM UPSIDE-DOWN WITH A KINSHASA! HE THEN LETS OUT A ROAR, FOLLOWED BY ONE FINAL KINSHASA! 1…2…3! NAKAMURA HAS BEATEN THE BRUISERWEIGHT! NAKAMURA IS KING OF THE RING!
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BUILD TO NO MERCY
The following SD, Nakamura has an in-ring celebration segment, wearing a customised, flamboyant robe, covering his taped-up arm, whilst wearing the crown he wore at WK9. He cuts a promo, claiming that he jumped through every hoop to get where he is, starting with the betrayal at SummerSlam, which messed with his mind, watching Bryan get to supreme heights in Block A, realising that if he wants his revenge, he needs to refocus himself and win. He received a surprise from Zayn in the form of an injury, but he fought through it to beat Cole and make it to the Finals. However, the same cannot be said for Bryan, who fell to Dunne, who Nakamura inched past in the Finals. He gives props to Dunne for bringing a tough fight, but states that the King was the better man, and now, he is headed to a title shot at Survivor Series. He prepares to reveal his choice, but is interrupted by Andrade and Zelina Vega. Vega claims that Andrade should be KOTR, seeing as he beat Nakamura on Night One. Had this been single-elimination, Nakamura wouldn’t have unfairly gotten more shots, so she demands he puts the shot on the line against Andrade. Nakamura takes a moment to consider, looking over to his arm, before agreeing. As Nakamura begins to walk off to prepare, Vega comes in his way, having a few tricks up her sleeve, as he’s clocked in the back with a STEEL CHAIR BY ANDRADE! Andrade attacks the shoulder joint, before ramming Nakamura into the chair with a LA SOMBRA! The two stand tall over Nakamura, as the medical staff tend to Nakamura, with officials announcing that Nakamura isn’t cleared for competition because of the assault, so the match is postponed a week.
In the main event of the next week, Nakamura battles with Andrade, who takes control in the early goings, controlling the arm using his Lucha Libre skills, using Arm Drags to weaken it, before using his high-flying, sleazy offense to ground Nakamura. As he goes for the La Sombra though, Nakamura fires up, ramming him into the corner, before unloading with strikes. During Nakamura’s comeback, a purple couch slides out to ringside, reminiscent of Nakamura’s red one during the WK10 promo package. Velveteen Dream pops out from behind it, before laying down to watch the remainder of the match. Andrade uses the distraction to his advantage, getting a near-fall off of a SOMBRA DRIVER, but Nakamura regains composure, hitting the KINSHASA to retain his title shot. After the match, Dream walks down to the ring, coming face-to-face with Nakamura, before mouthing off to him and getting into his face with his extravagant poses. He then walks off to the stage, waving to Nakamura, as the show closes on the exhausted and confused face of Nakamura.
The following week, Dream hits the ring, cutting a promo that he too beat Nakamura during the tournament, finishing only 2 points below, so the Dream should get a shot too. But not on SmackDown, for the Dream deserves the biggest spotlight. He wants Nakamura at No Mercy, and the King of Strong Style, not one to back down from a fight, accepts the challenge from the Former NXT Champion, setting the match up for the following PPV.
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No Mercy
Velveteen Dream makes his entrance first, wearing a Nakamura-esque jacket, but in purple, with the King of Strong Style airbrushed onto his tights. He’s wearing a crown on his head, perhaps foreshadowing the ending of the match, before lying on the commentary table, waiting for Nakamura’s arrival. Nakamura comes out next, but to Dream’s surprise, he has some mind games of his own waiting. He comes out to red smoke, wearing Dream’s sunglasses, providing for a charismatic entrance. Like Dream, he rolls about the ring, before doing his own pose as Dream jumps into the ring, shouting at Nakamura. The two get into a fist-fight straight away, as they trade blows, trying to out-do each other. Dream gets into Nakamura’s head, doing some of Bryan’s signature offense, before pulling out some of his own, like the Spinebuster and Diving Double Axe Handle. He pays attention to the arm, focusing kicks to it, before hanging it in the ropes, snapping it down to hyperextend it. Nakamura fights back with Knee Strikes to the gut, followed some Good Vibrations, and a chorus of German Suplexes. Dream asks Nakamura to say his name, but Nakamura responds with ‘No speak Engrish’, before walloping him with a ROUNDHOUSE KICK! Dream gains near falls off of the FAMOUSER and DREAM-D-T, before attempting the Purple Rainmaker. However, Nakamura picks him out of mid-air with a CROSS ARMBREAKETRIANGLE CHOKE combo! Nakamura goes for the Kinshasa, but Dream counters with the DREAM VALLEY DRIVER, before landing the PURPLE RAINMAKER! 1…2…KICK OUT! Dream is in shock, beginning to panic by pulling out anything that comes to mind, but Nakamura’s experience prevails, allowing him to hit the KINSHASA for the victory! With Zayn having disappeared ever since his win over Nakamura, Nakamura has overcome all remaining obstacles, giving him a clear path to Survivor Series.
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BUILD TO SURVIVOR SERIES
On SD, Nakamura comes down to the ring, ready to reveal which world title he’s going for at Survivor Series. Nakamura cuts a short promo first, hyping up both titles, before saying he’s made up his mind. He claims that if he can’t get his hands on Bryan, he’ll deliver a shot to him by beating the man Bryan couldn’t. He wants… The Fiend. What a huge announcement! Nakamura is coming for the WWE Champion, the Fiend, the holder of the Championship Nakamura fell short chasing back in 2017 and 2018! Nakamura has a match the following week against Jinder Mahal, avenging his losses at SummerSlam and Hell in a Cell against the former WWE Champion, with a Kinshasa. After the match, the lights start flickering, and go out. When they come back on, a figure is in the ring, but it is not Wyatt… IT’S SAMI ZAYN! However, there seems to be something wrong with him, as he shakes about uncontrollably, twitching as he beats down Nakamura. It seems that he is trying to resist, but fires a Helluva Kick, before grabbing Nakamura’s face and shouting ‘LET HIM IN!’, as if possessed. The lights go out again, and when they come back on, Zayn has disappeared, as Nakamura struggles to pull himself up.
Suddenly, the titantron sparks up, and an episode of Firefly Funhouse plays. Wyatt is shown pacing around the room, before greeting everyone, claiming he has a special message for Nakamura. But first, he wants to make Nakamura feel at home, saying that he’s learned a few new words that he wants to share with his fireflies. He greets Nakamura with ‘Konnichiwa’, before saying ‘Omedetou Gozaimasu’ (Congratulations). He lets out a chuckle, excited by his use of Japanese. As he is about to proceed, there is a knock on his door, and he opens it, to find Zayn, trudging in as he twitches. Wyatt pats him on the back, telling him he did a great job. However, the excitement fades away, as he looks into the camera, and gives a solemn look, before making Zayn kneel. Wyatt starts shaking, as his ‘HURT’ glove springs up to Wyatt’s ear, informing him of something. Wyatt sighs, before grimly stating that the Fiend no longer requires Zayn’s services… BEFORE SNAPPING HIS NECK! Zayn collapses to the floor, and Wyatt orders his puppets to drag the body away, before returning to face Nakamura. He claims that The Fiend has been searching for challengers, having avenged his losses to the likes of Orton, Reigns and Cena, wanting new competition. And with Nakamura’s challenge, he must watch out, because the Fiend has no sense of ‘too far’. He tells Nakamura to keep his friends close, because he never knows when the Fiend will strike, before doing his creepy laugh, converting into the Fiend to close with ‘LET ME IN!’.
It is announced that until Survivor Series, Nakamura is not cleared for competition, and is barred from appearing on TV, forced to rehab his injury. The following weeks pan out like a horror movie, as the Fiend goes head-hunting, attacking a plethora of Nakamura’s close friends, taking them out one by one. He targets stars like Rusev, before making special appearance on 205 Live and NXT to take out Akira Tozawa and KUSHIDA, even going as far to attack main roster star Kairi Sane, all the while Nakamura is forced to watch on, unable to save his friends, in risk of severely injuring himself and costing his title opportunity.
Finally, on the go-home week, the final build to the match occurs, as The Fiend hosts Firefly Funhouse. The atmosphere is dark and bloody, as the Fiend admires his collection of victims, having turned them into puppets, along with hanging their ‘severed heads’ on the wall. The Fiend announces he has one more person who he’s forgotten about… proceeding to pull out a cowering GREG HAMILTON! One of Nakamura’s closest friends, and SmackDown ring announcer, Greg is dragged by the collar, as Wyatt prepares him for what has been dubbed as ‘The Sacrifice’. As he prepares to twist the neck of Greg… NAKAMURA BURSTS THROUGH THE DOOR WITH A KINSHASA! Nakamura and Wyatt get into a brawl, as Greg escapes. The two tear through the Firefly Funhouse, using anything they can to put down their opponent. Wyatt cracks a painting over Nakamura’s back, whilst Nakamura chops at the legs with an easel. Wyatt teases putting Nakamura through a table, but Nakamura escapes, striking him with the hammer. However, Wyatt powers through it, before flooring Nakamura with the MANDIBLE CLAW! He chokes out his foe as the lights turn blood red, emitting his creepy laugh and shouting ‘LET ME IN!’, before posing over the fallen body of Nakamura with his WWE Championship. Due to the brutality of the segment, the match is announced to be No Holds Barred.
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Survivor Series
The video package for the main event recounts the brutality of the The Fiend’s run, and of the go-home segment, showing The Fiend standing tall, as he enters his 231st day as WWE Champion. Nakamura comes out to make his entrance first, sporting a fresh arm, free of injury, but is attacked from behind from the get-go by the Fiend, starting the match on the stage. The two brawl, throwing Forearms at each other, but each shot by Nakamura is outweighed by the clubbing blows of Wyatt. He tries to Chokeslam Nakamura, but Nakamura escapes, slamming him with a DRAGON SUPLEX! They brawl through the crowd, using trash cans and steel chairs to batter each other, leading to Wyatt slamming Nakamura onto the spine of two chairs, before putting him through a table with a URANAGE! Wyatt has his way with Nakamura, using whatever the ‘HURT’ glove tells him to, but Nakamura himself happens to be a weapon, using the long legs to chop at the base of Wyatt, before flooring him with a killer knee. They make their way closer to ringside, where Nakamura unveils a ROCKING CHAIR, putting Wyatt through it with a LANDSLIDE! Wyatt finds a glass wall, driving Nakamura through it with a CROSSBODY! Back at ringside, Wyatt exposes the concrete, teasing a Sister Abigail onto it, but Nakamura fights out. They make their way onto the commentary tables, slugging it out there, but a mistimed Crossbody from Wyatt sends him CRASHING THROUGH! Nakamura batters him with a Fire Extinguisher, before spraying it onto him, but the mask keeps Wyatt protected. Nakamura brings out Kendo Sticks, weakening Wyatt’s legs and midsection, but Wyatt takes the pain, before slamming Nakamura into the STEEL STEPS! He then manhandles his opponent, tossing him into the ring post, before going to Uranage him onto the concrete, but Nakamura reverses it into a CROSS ARMBREAKER! Wyatt escapes by POWERBOMBING NAKAMURA ONTO THE RING APRON!
Wyatt brings out a set of tables from under the ring, setting them over the concrete as he laughs maniacally. However, he is unable to put Nakamura through it, sending the fight into the ring. He unleashes with shots to Nakamura with a BARBED WIRE BASEBALL BAT, but Nakamura responds by cutting it in two using a KATANA! Nakamura reverts back to his striking game, throwing knees to the gut, before trying to take out Wyatt with a REAR NAKED CHOKE, but Wyatt is able to escape. Wyatt sadistically rips apart the ring, exposing any steel or wood he can find. He removes the ring ropes, trying to CHOKE NAKAMURA OUT WITH IT! However, Nakamura escapes, sending Wyatt crashing into the exposed turnbuckle, before slamming him onto the floorboards with a SECOND LANDSLIDE! Nakamura lays out a bed of thumbtacks in the ring, but the action spills back up the ramp, as the two fight into the electrical area. They tease throwing each other through the tables, but prevent the fall by holding on. Nakamura positions Wyatt against the LED Boards, trying to put him through with a KINSHASA, but Wyatt avoids it, sending Nakamura’s knee into the boards! Wyatt then slams Nakamura’s head against it with a SISTER ABIGAIL, before putting him through the stage with a SENTON! He pulls a limp Nakamura out of the rubble, taking him back to ringside, before LIGHTING THE AFORMENTIONED TABLES ON FIRE! He attempts to Uranage Nakamura through, but Nakamura comes back to life, escaping to the sanctuary of the ring. Wyatt follows in pursuit, but it was a trap, as Nakamura flies in with the Kinshasa… BUT WYATT PICKS HIM OUT OF THE AIR WITH THE MANDIBLE CLAW! He once again tries to drive Nakamura through the flaming tables, but Nakamura escapes, landing a REAR KINSHASA! He considers ending the match here, but remembers the punishment Wyatt doled out to all of Nakamura’s friends, taking revenge by… PUTTING WYATT THROUGH WITH A DEATH VALLEY DRIVER! The referee puts out the flames using a Fire Extinguisher, as Wyatt yells out like he did when Orton burned the Wyatt Family Compound, feeling the same, excruciating pain that perhaps has prevented him from fully becoming ‘The Fiend’, leaving some ‘HEAL’ personality in him. Nakamura takes Wyatt back into the ring, hitting an INVERTED EXPLODER SUPLEX ONTO THE THUMBTACKS, BEFORE HITTING A KINSHASA! 1…2…3! SHINSUKE NAKAMURA IS THE NEW WWE CHAMPION! After an absolute bloodbath, Nakamura has become the first man to put down The Fiend, exposing his weakness of flames. For Wyatt, it seems he will return to the shadows, trying to put out his burning soul, coming back stronger and less emotionally attached for vengeance. But for Nakamura, the reign only begins.
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BUILD TO ARMAGEDDON
Finally, after over 4 years in the company, Shinsuke Nakamura is WWE Champion. But not only that, he is now a Grand Slam Champion. He kicks off the following SD, tattooed in welts and bruises. He cuts a promo on his journey to the top, before claiming that the King of Strong Style has finally reached his throne, after facing some of the best wrestlers in the world. He plans to continue rising and defend his championship in order to have the best reign in history… because you never know when your last may be. He ends the promo with a ‘YEAOH!’.
Over the next couple of weeks, the next #1 Contender is decided through qualifiers, and a Fatal Four Way. Ricochet, Aleister Black, Bobby Lashley, and Velveteen Dream qualify, leading to a high-octane match between the four Superstars. Ricochet brings his athleticism and unique offense, Black brings his strong strikes and brooding demeanour, Lashley brings his hunger and raw power, and Dream brings his charisma and craftiness. In the end, Black lays out Lashley with the Black Mass, but the crafty Dream throws him out of the ring, diving into the pinfall. However, Ricochet crushes Dream and Lashley with the 630 Senton, getting the 3 count to become #1 Contender. Nakamura comes out to congratulate Ricochet, shaking his hand charismatically, before hoisting high his title.
The first-time encounter is heavily hyped up, with Ricochet cutting a promo on Nakamura, talking about the controversies earlier in the year between them over the SmackDown Tag Team Championships, but now, with no negative influence in the form of Bryan, he hopes for a clean match, stating that Nakamura may have beaten Ali, but he won’t beat Ricochet.
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Armageddon
Ricochet makes his entrance first, prepared for his world title picture debut. He springs into the ring, before lying in wait for Nakamura. The WWE Champion follows next, ready for his first title defence, and for the dream match against the One and Only. One year ago, Nakamura lost the IC Championship to Ricochet’s old tag team partner, Aleister Black. Tonight, will he lose in his first title defence, or will he pull through with the victory? Let’s find out…
The match starts hot out of the gates, as these two already have clashed in tag team action. Ricochet takes to the skies, delivering a Springboard European Uppercut, followed by a Dropkick, sending Nakamura out of the ring. He hits a CORKSCREW MOONSAULT PLANCHA, before throwing Nakamura back in for the cover, but Nakamura kicks out. Nakamura takes control of his opponent, backing him into the corner for Shoot Kicks, followed by Grounded Knee Strikes. He focuses the attack on the legs, trying to prevent Ricochet from flying, but Ricochet uses his evasiveness to avoid a string of kicks and stomps, responding with a Backflip Kick, followed by a Rickrack. He climbs to the top, but an Enzuigiri knocks him out to the floor, allowing Nakamura to whip him into the barricades, and follow with knees to the gut. Nakamura delivers his signature offense, including the Good Vibrations, before picking away at the leg. He locks in a Single Leg Crab, but Ricochet kicks him away, before shaking the leg off. He goes for a Spinning Wheel Kick, but Nakamura evades it, draping Ricochet’s leg in the ropes, allowing for an Elevated Dragon Screw Leg Whip. Nakamura puts Ricochet into a Heel Hook, but Ricochet makes it to the ropes. Nakamura doles out a few German Suplexes, followed by a Bridging German, but Ricochet kicks out. Frustrated, Nakamura tries to play at Ricochet’s game, going for the EL NINO, but Ricochet catches him with a SUPERKICK!
He regains his senses, hitting a NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPLEX, but can’t roll into the Deadlift, due to his battered leg. Thus, he makes up for it with a TORNADO DDT, followed by a BURNING SCREWDRIVER for a near fall. He mounts more signature offense, landing a Cross-Legged Samoan Driver and a PEOPLE’S MOONSAULT, but Nakamura keeps kicking out. Ricochet, feeling like he’s closing on the victory, tries for a 450 Splash, but Nakamura reverses it into a TRIANGLE CHOKE! Ricochet doesn’t have enough base strength to muscle him up, so he shifts his positioning to reach the ropes. Nakamura stays on Ricochet with a ROUNDHOUSE KICK, and a LANDSLIDE NECKBREAKER, but Ricochet is also resilient. Nakamura hits the INVERTED EXPLODER SUPLEX, prepared to end the match, but as Nakamura attempts to hit the Kinshasa, Ricochet counters with THE SKY IS FALLING! Ricochet starts laying in some Forearms, before landing a ROUNDHOUSE KICK of his own! He lands a SUPERMAN PUNCH, before attempting to muscle up Nakamura again, but he is unable to, as Nakamura lands sharp elbows to his neck, before snapping him back with a BRIDGING DRAGON SUPLEX! 1…2…NO! Nakamura goes to the leg again, putting him in an ANKLE LOCK, but Ricochet escapes with the headscissors, before landing a HELIOCENTRICITY for another near fall! Ricochet gingerly hops to the top rope, trying for the 630 Senton, but he’s too slow, as Nakamura manages to meet him there. NAKAMURA HOISTS HIM UP FOR THE AVALANCHE LANDSLIDE… BUT RICOCHET COUNTERS INTO A DRAGONRANA! 1…2…NAKAMURA KICKS OUT! Ricochet suddenly gains a burst of energy, finally picking up Nakamura onto his shoulders to deliver the VERTIGO! BUT NAKAMURA GETS THE HAND ON THE ROPE! Ricochet gets ugly with his strikes, as he repeatedly kicks Nakamura in the ropes, before flooring him with a MISSILE DROPKICK! He heads up top one more time, going for the 630 Senton, but Nakamura counters into a LUNGBLOWER! Nakamura pops the hips to deliver another DRAGON SUPLEX, followed by a REAR KINSHASA! He then finally manages to land the KINSHASA! 1…2…3! Nakamura is STILL the WWE Champion! After a clean match between the two, they shake hands, before Nakamura raises Ricochet’s arm in respect. As Nakamura celebrates in the ring… DANIEL BRYAN COMES OUT! He comes face-to-face with Nakamura for the first time since SummerSlam, sneering as he taps the WWE Championship on Nakamura’s shoulder, taunting him that he’s coming for the title.
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BUILD TO ROYAL RUMBLE
Nakamura kicks off the New Year’s edition of SD, coming out to hype up the Road to WM. He mentions Bryan showing up at the end of Armageddon, but states that he’s not worried about him. But if he wins the Rumble, he’ll be waiting to knee his head off. He claims that one year ago, he was a lost man, with no title, no purpose. But now, he is at the top of his game. He hopes to continue fighting to the main event of WrestleMania, but before he can continue talking… SAMI ZAYN IS BACK! After being taken out by Wyatt two months ago, Zayn disappeared, leaving no trace. But now, he is back, and he’s back for Nakamura. He brings out a steel chair, battering Nakamura’s back, before tossing Nakamura into the corner, delivering a triad of HELLUVA KICKS, holding high the WWE Championship.
The following week, as Nakamura is taking the night off, Zayn cuts a promo on him, ranting about the loss at Takeover: Dallas, and how it negatively affected him. He talks about how no one cares about him, so he made a statement in the KOTR, injuring Nakamura, but somehow, Nakamura won the Finals. And then, The Fiend took him captive. It seems that the world is against Sami Zayn, but he doesn’t care about that. What he cares about is that he is yet to win a title on the main roster, and Nakamura has won all of them in less time that Zayn has won one. Thus, why not start big? He has a shot in the bag at Nakamura, and he chooses to spend it on a WWE Championship match. Before returning, he talked to Bischoff, and it is CONFIRMED that they will fight at the Royal Rumble, but to ensure there is a definitive end, and no shenanigans to screw Zayn, it will be 2-out-of-3 Falls! He says that he is ready to embarrass Nakamura by beating him two falls straight. But obviously, Nakamura has to rest first because he receives special treatment, whilst Zayn is forced to work through shoulder injuries for years, receiving no respect. Zayn says that vengeance will be his, before mocking Nakamura, stating that he’ll beat the old man and take his WWE Championship by force. Later, Zayn beats Apollo Crews, bringing his new-found aggression to the match, before laying out Crews with a steel chair after the match.
The following week, Zayn storms out to the ring, interrupting a scheduled match to beat down two lower-carders, before calling out Nakamura to face him like a man, rather than hide behind his excuses. To his elation, Nakamura does come out, but he’s equipped with a steel chair! Nakamura runs down to the ring, wanting revenge, but Zayn runs away. Nakamura slams the chair onto the mat multiple times, trying to take out his anger, before grabbing a mic. He berates Zayn, claiming that Zayn is the one making excuses, before running away, hiding behind his special stipulation. But the fact is that he will beat Zayn however many times he needs to, punishing him for the attacks. He calls Zayn a coward, asking him to fight him. As he picks his Championship back up, he’s attacked from behind by Zayn, who didn’t leave for good, battering Nakamura again with a steel chair, before delivering a KINSHASA! He laughs as he soaks in the heat, calling Nakamura stupid for falling his trap, before holding up two fingers, reminding Nakamura that he will beat him two falls straight. The two men are kept apart in order to prevent further brawls before their match.
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Royal Rumble
The two superstars make their respective entrances, atmosphere much different than Dallas. Back then, this was a dream match. Now, it’s a grudge match. The formal ring introductions take place, and the bell rings to kick off the first fall. Zayn comes running right in with a Helluva Kick attempt, but Nakamura floors him with a SHOOT KICK! Nakamura goes for a Stomp, but Zayn moves, and evades the Knee Drop too, opening him up for a Dropkick from Zayn. They tangle on the mat, Zayn using his technical prowess to try and stay on top, but the amateur experience of Nakamura shines through, as he takes control of the waist, throwing out knees to the gut. Zayn gets up, coughing, as Nakamura back him into the corner, unleashing with more kicks and knees, before going over to the opposite corner. Zayn bursts out of the corner once again with a Helluva Kick attempt, but Nakamura has it scouted twice, popping Zayn horizontally on the top turnbuckle, before unleashing a knee. Nakamura looks to get the quick first fall too, going for a Kinshasa, but Zayn avoids it, sending Nakamura into the corner with a Reverse STO. He stomps a mudhole in the corner, before going for a cover, but Nakamura kicks out at 1. Zayn controls Nakamura with a headlock, but Nakamura does the kip-up escape, before delivering the Stepover Spinning Heel Kick. He snaps Zayn back for a BRIDGING GERMAN, but Zayn kicks out. Nakamura tries to apply a Cross Armbreaker, but Zayn makes it to the ropes to break the hold. Nakamura bursts out of his corner with a series of attempted knees, but Zayn dodges each one, until he’s backed into a corner, where Nakamura stomps on him, before delivering the Good Vibrations. Zayn is not one to be humiliated though, picking the leg and standing back up. Nakamura goes for his usual Enzuigiri counter, but Zayn has it scouted, ducking, before landing an EXPLODER SUPLEX INTO THE TURNBUCKLES! Nakamura rolls out to the apron for a breather, but Zayn stays on him, DROPKICKING HIM INTO THE BARRICADE! Zayn follows up with a SUICIDE DIVE INTO A TORNADO DDT!
Zayn takes Nakamura back to the mat and keeps him grounded, cutting off oxygen supply to the head. However, Nakamura fights out with elbows to the head, but Zayn cuts him off with a knee to the gut and a Dropkick to the head. Nakamura fights back but Zayn lands a variety of arm drags, before ducking a lariat and getting a Small Package for 2. Zayn stiffs up Nakamura with uppercuts, before mockingly kicking away at his head. He delivers a Leg Lariat, but Nakamura kicks out. Zayn continues working the neck, but Nakamura muscles up Zayn, hitting a DEATH VALLEY DRIVER for 2! Nakamura locks in a Seated Octopus Lock to ground Zayn, delivering elbows and forearms to the back of his head, but Zayn makes it to the ropes. Nakamura tries to hit a Landslide, but Zayn escapes with an Enzuigiri, followed by a HALF-AND-HALF SUPLEX, sending Nakamura into the ropes. Zayn kicks the bottom rope into Nakamura’s throat, continuing the work over the neck, before landing a Reverse STO, and a Koji Clutch attempt! However, Nakamura fights him off, dumping him into the corner. He goes for a High Knee, but crashes and burns to the outside. Zayn follows up with a DIVING CROSSBODY, before delivering some mounted forearms. He picks Nakamura back up, before driving him neck-first into the steel steps, and then the ring apron! He quickly tosses Nakamura back into the ring, grabbing the wrists, before stomping Nakamura’s head into the canvas! He takes Nakamura to the bottom corner and starts stomping away as the ref counts for the break. But Zayn continues, causing the referee to pull him off Nakamura, but Zayn pushes him to the side, stomping even more, leading to the referee calling for the bell and the disqualification! Nakamura earns the first fall by DQ. However, Zayn has done the damage to the neck, dragging Nakamura into the centre of the ring, locking in the KOJI CLUTCH! Nakamura flails as he tries to escape, looking to get his long legs onto the ropes, but can’t reach, so, in order to survive, Nakamura TAPS OUT! Zayn earns the second fall by submission.
The referee checks on Nakamura, asking him if he can continue, and Nakamura says he can. The bell rings for the final fall. Zayn charges as the match resumes… BUT NAKAMURA NAILS A KINSHASA OUT OF NOWHERE! 1…2…KICK OUT! They get back to their feet, exchanging a flurry of forearms, before things start to get ugly. Zayn lands a big Yakuza Kick to the head, but Nakamura responds with a ROUNDHOUSE KICK and an AXE KICK! Nakamura tries to follow with the Rolling Liger Kick, but Zayn catches it and lands the BLUE THUNDER BOMB! 1…2…NO! Zayn takes Nakamura to the top rope, going for a Superplex, but Nakamura escapes, tripping up Zayn to put him in the Tree of Woe, before delivering SHOOT KICKS to the chest! Nakamura hoists up the dazed Zayn, before dumping him with a LANDSLIDE! 1…2…ZAYN KICKS OUT! They start trading more forearms, before Zayn catches one and LOCKS IN THE KOJI CLUTCH AGAIN! However, this time, Nakamura counters into a pinning combination, before locking in the CROSS ARMBREAKER! He then transitions into the TRIANGLE CHOKE, but Zayn is able to muscle up Nakamura, tossing him into the corner, before flying in with the HELLUVA KICK! THIRD TIME’S THE CHARM! CAN HE DO IT?! 1…2…THR-KICK OUT! NAKAMURA KICKED OUT! Zayn furiously slams the mat, before getting a sick idea in his mind. He drags Nakamura to the top rope, before teasing his old finisher; a Brainbuster onto the top turnbuckle! However, Nakamura escapes, kicking Zayn to the mat, before delivering a DIVING REAR KINSHASA! He then goes to his corner, before screaming out and delivering the KINSHASA! 1…2…3! Nakamura has defeated Zayn, 2-1, to retain his WWE Championship.
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Later, in the main event of the night, Daniel Bryan enters the Rumble at #30, referencing to the spot he never received back in 2014, but this time, to heavy boos. With the UE eliminated, Bryan has to go this alone. He successfully eliminates two Superstars, before boiling down to the Final Four of: Bryan, Reigns, Owens and Ali. As the four men get ready to eliminate each other, the UE hit the ring, severely tilting the odds in Bryan’s favour, as they go to beat down Reigns and Ali. As they go over to Owens, Owens tells them to stop, before offering to join the UE, with his close friend, Cole, almost instantly taking the offer. However, Owens tricks them, almost immediately betraying them by handing out Stunners to send them flying out of the ring! Through the chaos, a battered Ali, who entered at #1, is eliminated at the hands of Bryan to heavy boos. Reigns goes over next, as Owens Stunners him over, leaving Bryan and Owens in the Final Two. They wrestle the classic, match-in-a-match scenario, going 5 minutes of back-and-forth, in which Owens tries to channel his inner Austin (3-time Rumble Winner), going to Stunner Bryan over the rope, but Bryan holds on, before countering a Pop-Up Powerbomb attempt with a KNEE PLUS, sending Owens over the rope for the elimination! Bryan has won the Rumble! The show closes on the UE celebrating in the ring, with Bryan winning his first Rumble to set up a world title shot for WM.
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Part 5

Controlling Manhattan’s East Village, the Yakuza are a very dangerous Japanese-themed Raider gang.
They wear distinctive outfits: black ninja clothes (sometimes without sleeves), with bits of scrap metal armor modeled after that of the ancient Samurai, worn over this piece of apparel. They have two different types of helmets: one is modeled after the traditional samurai helm, the other is modeled after the traditional Japanese straw hat. Underneath these uniforms, Yakuza Raiders have full-body tattoos modeled after those of the original yakuza (though instead of dragons, stylized and “Easternized” Deathclaws are used).
They’re also uniquely armed with katanas, wazikashis, tantos, nunchucks (two claw hammers chained together) and throwing stars. Though they take pride in being a melee-focused gang, they are no strangers to using firearms, though they prefer pistols or submachine guns. The Yakuza very frequently dual-wield their weapons.
Despite the fact that the Yakuza are Japanese-themed, not everyone in the gang is ethnically Japanese. The non-Japanese members of the gang are basically post-apocalyptic weaboos (this is not out of place for Fallout, BTW, my grandpa was a Japanese cultural admirer in the 1950’s). Nevertheless, Yakuza members can often be heard yelling “tennōheika banzai!”, and other Japanese phrases as they attack and pillage.
The leader of the Yakuza is Boss Toriyama, who wears a unique set of T60b power armor, which has been modified to resemble an Oni (Japanese demon). He is armed with a unique Katana called “Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi” (“Grass-Cutting Sword” – a legendary blade in Japanese culture, akin to Excalibur in the West).
Criticisms? Additional suggestions?

This is her backstory. Should I put up her stats & info?
My character I am working on is Candy, a 22 year old chinese human woman, and a decker.
Link to my Hero Lab generated character.
The tl;dr is that she's a decker with a criminal SIN, ties with one triad boss

Bod	Ag	Rea	Str	Will	Log	Int	Ch	Edg	Es
2	3 (5)	3	2	5	5 (7)	4	2	5	4.24

Computer	6
Cracking Grp	5
Gymnastics	4
Hardware	4
Perception	5
Pistols	3
Sneaking	4
Software	6
Unarmed Combat	4
Ancients	2
Corp Sec Systems	3
Decker hangouts	2
Seattle Street Gangs	2
Prison culture	2
Renton Streets	2
Triads	3
Cantonese	N
English	N
Mandarin	4
Sperethiel	2

Qualities: Bilingual, Codeslinger, Mild novacoke addiction, day job (20 hours/week), criminal SIN
As a kid, she grew up SINless in the chinatown section of Renton, and ran with a triad gang (the Large Circle League—a mid size tong which controlled a decent amount of turf).
When she turned 12 she started running with a local chinese gang called the "International Flash Crew" that was under the Large Circle League—a mid-sized tong which controlled some neighborhoods in Renton. The IFC did various robberies and break-ins, but Candy (at that time, she was called Fox) came into her own with her skills at cracking maglocks and sneaking into places.
Her first life-changing event happened at 14. On November 11, 2067 Fox and a few of her gang friends tried robbing a Stuffer Shack. One of her friends (Winston) tried kamikaze for the first time and got a hot dose and had a bad reaction. In his rage he started beating one of their own crew (her best friend, Kimmy) with a baseball bat and Fox quickly shot him in the back of the head and killed him. Unfortunately for Fox, Kimmy died and, it was all caught on camera. She was quickly arrested and convicted of robbery and manslaughter and given a 14 year prison sentence and a criminal SIN, which she served 6 due to good behavior and overcrowding, and is now out on parole.
In prison she had a generally normal prison experience—looking over her shoulder and a lot of fighting. An older elvish woman (Pharom—25 year-old Ancients ganger busted in Seattle for committing some serious gangster-drek) took her under her wing and taught her how to take care of herself. That meant fighting and decking. And how did she learn to deck in prison? There were some dirty guards! They ran a small operation of having a few prisoners who knew how to deck to do dirty work for mob contacts (changing prison records, etc.). Fox, who had her nickname changed in prison to Candy, was taught to deck by Pharom.
During her prison time, the entire International Flash Crew died from yakuza actions.
Fox was released from prison when she was 20, and has been on parole since. She’s held odd jobs provided by her friend Crabby, a Seattle triad boss, and he also has her down for working in one of his electronic shops for her part of her parole.

1. She dresses hipster-club chic, often with a AR chinese pattern and dragon-motif, but not too expensive (yet). Her hair style is long and she changes the color regularly.
2. She is 5’6” with an average build.
3. She had some minor plastic surgery to remove the scars on her face from her many scuffles in prison. She protects her skin with long-sleeve clothing and hats with brims due to her auntie, who always wanted white skin (she was old school). Her hair is shoulder-length.
4. She feels attractive enough about herself, but doesn’t try too hard to be “hot,” or sexually attractive. She’s way more concerned about making nuyen for more toys. She likes to dress her age and wears hipster style clothing. Her hair is kept long and changes the color often. She has ear and nose piercings, and one prison tattoo—the name of the prison and her time served—in sperethiel script.
5. She was raised in a small chinatown section in Renton (it’s pretty much the asian area). She did not have a mother or father, but was adopted and raised by her Auntie (name and story needed). Her Auntie was SINless and they worked and lived off of trade for food.
6. She was born 10/19/2053. She was just turning 11 when Crash 2.0 hit. She was interested in Matrix and computer games and the crashed deleted all her games and saves.
7. She lived in a small apartment in Renton’s Chinatown with her Auntie and her step brother and sister. Her grandfather competed in pistol competitions when he was young, and taught her how to shoot.
8. She is single and no family or dependents.
9. Education—a non-profit that offered classes for SINless kids ran schools in her area. She also got her GED in prison.
10. She ran in a small gang (International Flash Crew). She had a tattoo of her gangs emblem, but had it removed when she got out of prison.
11. No religious beliefs—she was raised in a family that was SINless—they didn’t care about politics. Politically she’s pro-metahuman rights, pro- free data and programs. She thinks she’s more of a neo-anarchist, but she loves buying gear and wants a high lifestyle.
12. Morally, since she has killed someone she is normally against killing people, but in a run or a life-threatening situation she’ll do what she has to do.
13. Goals—she wants nuyen and experience decking. She wants to have enough money to buy off her criminal SIN. She wants the things that kids who are raised poor want—nuyen for a nicer lifestyle, more headware, a nicer deck and nice clothes.
14. She runs the shadows because first, she loves the excitement of doing clandestine actions and cutting through large hosts with her skills and deck. Second, she’s a convicted criminal.
15. She is kind of introverted but can have a lot of fun when she goes out (hence the novacoke addiction). She doesn’t really have good social skills and uses novacoke when she goes out.
16. Special qualities: she learned to cook Cantonese style food from her Auntie. Not enough to work in a restaurant, but good enough, especially when she has real ingredients.
17. She’s not into close personal (read intimate) relationships since she got out of prison.
18. She was raised SINless so she has a bias against upperclass corps. Also, she generally does not like blond caucasian women, but that’s usually just during the first meeting.
19. She loves decking the matrix, raging at nightclubs
20. Street name: Candy